“I’m glad—­I’m glad,”
said Una bravely. Then she looked up, with quivering
lips. “Oh, Miss West, you won’t turn
father against us—­you won’t make
him hate us, will you?” she said beseechingly.

Rosemary stared again.

“Una Meredith! Do you think I would do
such a thing? Whatever put such an idea into
your head?”

“Mary Vance said stepmothers were all like that—­and
that they all hated their stepchildren and made their
father hate them—­she said they just couldn’t
help it—­just being stepmothers made them
like that”—­

“You poor child! And yet you came up here
and asked me to marry your father because you wanted
to make him happy? You’re a darling—­a
heroine—­as Ellen would say, you’re
a brick. Now listen to me, very closely, dearest.
Mary Vance is a silly little girl who doesn’t
know very much and she is dreadfully mistaken about
some things. I would never dream of trying to
turn your father against you. I would love you
all dearly. I don’t want to take your
own mother’s place—­she must always
have that in your hearts. But neither have I
any intention of being a stepmother. I want
to be your friend and helper and CHUM. Don’t
you think that would be nice, Una—­if you
and Faith and Carl and Jerry could just think of me
as a good jolly chum—­a big older sister?”

“Oh, it would be lovely,” cried Una, with
a transfigured face. She flung her arms impulsively
round Rosemary’s neck. She was so happy
that she felt as if she could fly on wings.

“Do the others—­do Faith and the boys
have the same idea you had about stepmothers?”

“No. Faith never believed Mary Vance.
I was dreadfully foolish to believe her, either.
Faith loves you already—­she has loved
you ever since poor Adam was eaten. And Jerry
and Carl will think it is jolly. Oh, Miss West,
when you come to live with us, will you—­could
you—­teach me to cook—­a little—­and
sew—­and—­ and—­and
do things? I don’t know anything.
I won’t be much trouble—­I’ll
try to learn fast.”

“Darling, I’ll teach you and help you
all I can. Now, you won’t say a word to
anybody about this, will you—­not even to
Faith, until your father himself tells you you may?
And you’ll stay and have tea with me?”

“Oh, thank you—­but—­but—­I
think I’d rather go right back and take the
letter to father,” faltered Una. “You
see, he’ll be glad that much SOONER, Miss West.”

“I see,” said Rosemary. She went
to the house, wrote a note and gave it to Una.
When that small damsel had run off, a palpitating
bundle of happiness, Rosemary went to Ellen, who was
shelling peas on the back porch.

“Ellen,” she said, “Una Meredith
has just been here to ask me to marry her father.”